Speak No Evil Read Online Free Page A

her—” she stopped suddenly, looking lost.
    “Mrs. Vance?”
    She shook her head, gave them a half-smile. “I was just thinking. Everything is going to be okay. You’re wrong. The poor girl . . . she’s not Angie.”
    “Mrs. Vance, do you know Steve Thomas?”
    “The name sounds familiar,” she said. “I think she talked about him around Christmas. Or Thanksgiving. I think they went on a couple dates, but it wasn’t serious. Why?”
    Will evaded the question by asking about any other casual boyfriends. Mrs. Vance couldn’t think of any boys Angie had been seeing recently.
    Carina didn’t have any more questions, not right now. She knew she’d have to face Mrs. Vance again, at the funeral, possibly at the house collecting evidence, asking more questions. She certainly wasn’t looking forward to any of it.
    She would much rather interview suspects and witnesses than talk to the victim’s family.
    Will handed Debbie Vance a card with the coroner’s name and address. “If you can come by sometime today to identify the body, we would appreciate it. Just call this number and tell them you’re coming. They’ll have everything ready. You don’t even need to be in the same room, they’ll show you on a screen.”
    Her lip quivered but she nodded. “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”
    When Will and Carina were outside, Carina took several deep breaths before getting into their car.
    “Cara, are you okay?”
    “Just give me a second.”
    It was the quiet anguish that got to her. The pain in the eyes. The firm denial even with the internal knowledge that the police wouldn’t come ask her to view a body if they weren’t nearly one hundred percent positive of the identity already. Because there was always hope.
    She squeezed her eyes closed and tilted her face to the sun. One. Two. Three.
    Better. She tamped down on her own pain and frustration, and turned to Will. “I want to talk to Steve Thomas.”
                      
    Steve Thomas’s oceanfront apartment was within biking distance to the university, as evidenced by the wide and well-used bike paths along the highway. There were eight units, four on top, four on bottom. A dozen similar apartment buildings took up this stretch of the highway, half a block from the beach. When she’d been in college, one of her boyfriends had had a place out here, about a mile away, similar to Thomas’s apartment. Ocean access justified the outrageous rent.
    On the south side of the building, college-aged men and women walked on the path connecting the street to the beach. It was a Monday in February, but if you didn’t have classes the San Diego beaches were incomparable virtually year-round. Surfers would be out en masse—the temperature promised to be eighty-two today, and while the water was cold, wet suits made it tolerable. Invigorating.
    Sometimes Carina missed the carefree life she’d enjoyed in college, when she could drop everything and pick up her surfboard. When was the last time she’d hit the waves? Five, six years ago? She and her brother Connor had gone out before a big storm, nearly wiped out. Even though they were adults, her dad had been furious. They’d had a blast, though. It had been worth Dad’s stern lecture.
    She was so out of practice now that she didn’t dare go out under the same conditions. Even today’s tame waves would be a challenge.
    Their radio beeped. “Hooper here,” Will answered.
    “Sergeant Fields. I have something on the Thomas guy.”
    “Shoot.”
    “He’s clean, except for a restraining order.”
    Carina raised an eyebrow at Will.
    “Anything else?”
    “Oh, yeah,” Fields responded. “Angela Vance, the girl he reported missing, put it on him three weeks ago.”

THREE
    C ARINA AND W ILL approached Thomas’s apartment with caution, but he wasn’t home. They called in a patrol to check the area every hour and notify them when he returned.
    She said to Will as they drove to the university to